Need
by Combferre
Summary: I need the pain it brings, so bitter and yet so sweet, so reviving and yet so demolishing, so refreshing and yet so cliché.
1. Chapter 1

**So I'll tell you first up that this is a sensitive topic. As you may have noticed, I enjoy writing depressing things. I'll let you read the story first and then I'll explain at the bottom if you want to know more about it. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT IN A STABLE STATE OF MIND! **

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I need it. That's what no one understands. I'm not strong enough to exist without it.

Without it I am lost, I am pathetic, I am weak. But _it_ makes me weak. It strips away my courage, built up so strong in the light of day, as easily as if it were dead bark pealing in sheets off of a lifeless tree. It's a quick tear, no ripping and wrenching, tearing and tugging, wrestling with the stubborn bandage adhering to the skin, unwilling to be pried loose. The Band-Aid covering my shame is old and soggy, pretending to heal my wounds when all it does is hide them from view. But they're still there, concealed or not. They still sting. And they make me feel alive. Without it, I am little more than a hollow corpse. Without it, I am a shell. Without it, I cannot feel. Without it, I am not alive.

I need the pain it brings, so bitter and yet so sweet, so reviving and yet so demolishing, so refreshing and yet _so_ cliché. I am a cliché. I think myself a martyr; a martyr sheltering behind the façade of normality and which rears its ugly head only to snap violently before retreating back below the surface of the calm masquerading as my exterior. But I know I only want to think myself a martyr because I want to feel special. I want to feel _special_ because really, I am so boringly bland that it is a miracle that there are people who "enjoy" my company—supposedly.

I need the knife. I pretend that I don't need it, that I am not addicted to the drug of pain. But it is only a lie I whisper to myself in vain. It is a lie that I reiterate in my head after I do it, after I draw the knife across my skin, evoking blood bubbling up from deep within. My blood, ironically, is not black. It is neither poisonous nor frozen. It is instead utterly ordinary; it is red. It is bland.

I need to cut. I really do. It is punishment for all the wrong I have done, the sins I have committed, the evil I become; I deserve it. It is a promise to be better, to not make the same mistakes, to not become the monster that I am. It is the only way I can _feel_; without the sting, I am numb and cold and blank and as empty as the vacuum of space that surrounds all life, smothering us. It is awakening; it clears my screwed up head like nothing else can. It is a cry for attention. It is a cry for help.

I need someone to notice. I need someone to care enough to beg me to stop. To shed tears over the depth of abyss I have dug myself into, and their failure to see it until it is too late, until I am gone. I want someone to realize what I do to myself so badly. But I am terrified that someone will find out and deem me crazy. My greatest desire is my greatest fear. I conceal it so no one can tell but a part of me always wishes that someone, anyone, will look beyond the surface, behind the fake smile and realize that I need help; I'm drowning. But there's no one there to pull me up, save me. So I sink below the waves and I don't come back up. Please save me. Please. Please. Please.

I need help. I need someone to save me. But there's no one there. So I turn back to the one thing that makes some of the agonizing despair vanish for a miniscule moment. I turn back to my knife. And I relish in the marks on my skin; they make me look as messed up as I feel. I relish in the pain; it brings me back to Earth. I relish in the loneliness; you have to at least appreciate how very alone I am. And yet the very thing that brings me immeasurable comfort is my undoing.

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**This means a lot to me. It is pretty much inspired by (if not almost totally about) my life. I guess I wrote it to vent. But I also wrote it because I've read a lot of stories where the character is "depressed" and "cuts" or does something of the sort and most of them don't really capture the emotion behind it. The other stories gloss over the fact that someone is resorting to physical pain as a way of coping because they don't know what else to do. They are in so deep that they don't know what to do to pull themselves out. And they are all cliche, always saying that the knife brought "release" and it made them feel "real." They do not do this subject justice and explain it to those who don't understand.**

**So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to try and show you what it is actually like for someone in that state of mind. I am doing this partly because it is therapeutic to get all of my disturbing thoughts down on paper (though I know this is technically not on paper but whatever) and partly to put an end to ignorance.**

**This story can apply really to any character who is going through a hard time. However Cam and Ellie are ready made to take on this role, so they're the obvious choices. I really relate to Cam. Which I will explain in my other story about him ****_I Just Want to Die_**** Already**

**Not sure when updates will come. They'll be sporadic and based off of my moods.**

**This will not develop a legit plot-line where Character A meets Character B and they do X Y and Z together. It will more be their mental progressions over time. **

**This is on my other account (SecretAgent86) too, though it is slightly different.**

**Finally; PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE READING THIS IF YOU ARE NOT IN A STABLE STATE OF MIND! I will be vivid.**

**Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated. I love you all,  
-Lia**


	2. Goodbye

**Hello everyone. I'm terribly sorry to inform you, but I won't be completing this story. As a matter of fact, I won't be completing any of my stories ever again. The reason, if you cared to ask, is because today is my last day on Earth. If that vague generalization meant nothing to you, I'll spell it out nice and clearly: I won't be writing anymore fan fiction because I am planning on killing myself in a few hours. I just feel like I owe it to you guys to at least tell you not to expect these stories to be updated again. I'm really sorry but I just can't do this anymore. So I guess this was it. It was a pleasure having you read my stories, and your feedback was always so kind and supportive. I thank you for taking the time to read the crap that I have written and I wish you all the best in life. Please go out and do some good in the world. Just because I can't doesn't mean you can't. So ya. This is it. Goodbye.  
As always, lots of love,  
-Lia**


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